Pieces of Me
by Rachel Snape17
Summary: House and Cuddy finally get what they want. Then tragedy strikes. Will House be able to pick up the pieces? Warning: Character death.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Pieces of Me

**Rating:** PG-13

**Disclaimer:** I don't own House MD.

**Summary:** Character death! For a brief time, House and Cuddy both get what they want. Then Fate steps in and tragedy strikes. Will House be able to pick up the pieces?

* * *

House stared contemplatively at the amber liquid in his shot glass as he swirled it. Around and around, and he knew all he needed to do was throw his head back, down it, and start the cycle that would numb the pain that rivaled anything his leg ever produced.

It was simple. Just drink this one. Then another one. And another. He'd done it before, knew the cycle by heart. Follow it with one too many Vicodin, and it would stop the pain, perhaps for good.

But he couldn't.

"God damn it!"

He swore suddenly, threw the glass and watched it shatter against the wall; he regretted it, as a high-pitched wail started up in the next room.

Damn it all. Damn her, especially. Damn her, for getting what she wanted, and then having the gall to leave before she had a chance to enjoy it. Damn her for giving him hope in getting everything _he_ wanted, then snatching it away.

But most of all, the diagnostician damned himself, for not being able to save her. There hadn't been anything to diagnosis, no slow-acting disease that lingered long enough for him to find a cure. No. Just one night, icy roads, and some stupid kid who had too much to drink.

He closed his eyes, rubbed a hand over his stubble, as his last memory of her came back.

* * *

"_House, I need you to watch her for tonight; I'll be working late."_

_House frowned._

"_You're not even off maternity leave yet, and I don't know if you've noticed, but I kinda live with you now, so you don't need to go all the way to the office to have hot employer-employee sex."_

_Cuddy rolled her eyes._

"_I just need to put some things in order; it'll only take a few hours. Are you telling me you can't handle her?"_

_House knew that his ego was being baited; however, that did nothing change the fact that it was working._

"_Well, all I'm saying, is that if she starts screaming the during The OC, I can't really be held responsible."_

_The Dean of Medicine leaned close to him then, and his blue eyes found hers, one eyebrow raised. She let her lips ghost over his, her hand brushing against his arm, squeezing lightly._

"_How about I hold you responsible when I get home, then?"_

_House decided then and there that even if she was the mother of his child, Lisa Cuddy was evil._

"_No fair cheating." _

_He muttered, even as he wrapped his arm around her waist, drew her closer, and kissed her again, this time deepening it more to his liking. The moment lasted several seconds, the temperature in the room rising, before she pulled away, shaking her head. There was a sparkle in her eyes that he secretly knew only he could produce. _

"_Work now, play later, Greg . ..I'll see you later tonight, okay?"_

_House made a big show of sighing, but finally acquiesced._

"_Oh, fine. But you should know that this is cruel and abusive punishment, leaving a poor cripple all alone-"_

"_You won't be alone. Now go, before she wakes up again."_

_She knelt, cooed and placed a gentle kiss on the slumbering infant's head, before handing the bassinet to House, her fingers brushing against his._

"_You be good for daddy, sweetheart. Mommy loves you both very much."_

_House tried his best to keep up a tough-guy stance, refraining from saying anything, merely catching her gaze with intense, ice blue eyes; eyes that seared the words he so rarely said aloud into her heart. She smiled, nodded, and turned back to her paperwork._

* * *

House choked back a sob, balled his hands into fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white around his cane. He didn't want to remember the rest. The phone call, Wilson stopping him when he got to the hospital. He remembered trying to push past Wilson, snarling at him to get the hell out of the way. Then he'd recognized the look in Wilson's gaze, the deliberately calm, yet somehow unsteady tone to his voice, as he told House to wait a minute.

And everything in House rebelled against the revelation that came to him; he lashed out against it with everything he had, and suddenly the oncologist was on his ass in the snow, his nose and lip bleeding. Anything to get that sorrowful look out of his eyes, to keep that sickening tone from his voice.

* * *

"_House. Greg. She's-"_

"_NO! No God damnit, no she's __**not**__!"_

_And he'd raced into the hospital, ignoring the agony in his leg, limping faster into the ER just in time to see one of the nurses finish writing something on a clipboard. And there, on the table, amidst all that blood, was the woman he loved, looking deathly pale. Too pale. _

"_No, no, no, __**NO!"**_

_He didn't even realize he was speaking out loud , as he ripped the clipboard out of the nurse's hands and threw it on the ground. The nurse looked terrified._

"_Dr. House!"_

"_Paddles."_

_He snarled; the nurse shook her head._

"_Dr. House, she's been gone for ten min-"_

_He moved to shove her out of the way to get at them himself._

"_I said __**give me the fucking paddles!"**_

"_House."_

_Wilson put a hand on his shoulder, and House whirled, nearly losing his balance. His gaze was wild as he looked at Wilson. Then, before his friend's eyes, he seemed to crumple with a pained gasp, moving towards the table. He reached out, brushed his fingers against Cuddy's cheek, then nearly recoiled at the coolness of her skin. _

"_You can't do this. You can't."_

_He pleaded, reaching out and grasping her lifeless hand. Wilson stood next to him, as the nurse scurried away. _

"_She fought, House. Stayed alive during the ambulance ride, made it to the operating table. . .but the internal damage was too bad. It's a miracle she didn't die on impact." _

"_Get out." _

_House's voice was hoarse, and Wilson recognized from the tension in his friend's form that he was about to be hit again; he hesitated, then left the room._

"_Lisa. Please. . .don't. . . ."_

_House swallowed, his tongue thick in his mouth, as he gazed at her, stroked his thumb along her palm._

"_Don't go." _

_He whispered, and closed his eyes to stop the bitter-hot tears; they came anyways, and he stayed like that for a long time, leaning over Cuddy's body as his own shook with silent sobs. _

_Almost two hours later, his leg on fire, his mind a whirlwind of pain, he heard a familiar voice._

"_House."_

"_Go away."_

_He muttered, remembering his anger from before. A miracle. Wilson had called it a miracle that Cuddy made it to the hospital alive. He wanted to scream that of course it wasn't a miracle, she was dead! What the fuck kind of miracle could that be? Miracles didn't exist. . .because if they did, his angel wouldn't have been taken away like this._

"_Your daughter needs you."_

_Wilson cradled the infant carefully against his shoulder; she'd been strapped in her car seat, and crying loudly, ever since House left the vehicle. He supported her head, careful not to let her see the ER room. House stared at him for a long moment, as though he didn't recognize him. _

_Wilson was about to speak again when House stood, painfully, and limped over to the sink. Mechanically, without thinking, he washed Cuddy's blood from his hands; his shirt was stained, so he pulled the button-up off, tossed it to the side. Then he limped forward, and took his daughter in his arms, carrying her not to his office, but to Cuddy's. He sat in her chair, a part of him desperately hoping that she'd burst in any moment and kick him out of it; then, facing the window, he rocked back and forth slowly, staring straight ahead. He stayed like that until his daughter finally fell asleep. It was the middle of the night, but sleep wouldn't come for him. His life had shattered, and the only thing keeping him from doing the same was the little bundle in his arms._

* * *

House opened his eyes, felt tears again running down his cheeks. He never cried, but now it seemed beyond his control. He'd beaten Wilson back, with scathing insults, threats- hell, he'd even come close to begging. His best friend finally agreed to let him go home alone, but promised to drop by in the morning. House guessed it must've been near morning by now; around six, the sun starting to come up. It seemed so very wrong to him. How could the sun be rising on a new day, when his whole world had been broken in one night?

The crying grew louder, and House made himself stand, moved towards the bedroom.

He gazed down at his daughter, _their_ daughter, but most of all, _her_ daughter. The child she'd wanted so badly, for so long, and finally been blessed with. The little girl who had her mother's dark curls and her father's ice-blue eyes, features noticeable barely a few weeks after her birth.

He remembered the birth; remembered the exhausted, yet exhilarated smile that graced Cuddy's features when she held Elena. Remembered how she seemed to take so naturally to mothering, the joy in her face when she held their daughter.

His heart throbbed painfully, in sync with his leg, as he thought bitterly that he'd never see that smile again.

Elena caught his gaze, reached out her tiny little arms, and House obliged, lifting her out of the crib and holding her against his chest. She grasped his t-shirt in a perfectly formed little fist, held tightly, and cried.

"I'm sorry."

His voice broke. Sorry, that she was without a mother, and with a drug-addicted, shattered cripple for a father. Sorry that he couldn't save Cuddy. Sorry he didn't make her come home with him that night. Sorry, sorry, sorry. And it didn't do one hell of a bit of good, being sorry.

House felt the rage come over him again, but then a tiny hand brushed against the stubble on his cheek, and he realized that Elena's cries were quieting. She was regarding him with strangely intense eyes, eyes that matched his own in color, but had her mother's sparkle to them.

And in his mind, the words echoed, with a tone that wasn't his own.

_Our daughter needs you._

He nodded, and somehow managed to find the strength to keep his voice from breaking. A strength he knew, instinctively, wasn't entirely his. A strength he knew he would need to cling to, if they were ever going to make it through this.

"I know."

He looked down at Elena, and spoke quietly to the infant.

"Don't cry . . . I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."

**

* * *

**

**Author's Note:**

I have no idea where this one came from. I was in the middle of physics homework, and it just demanded to be let out. I'll probably edit in the future. Not sure if it's a one-shot or not. Please, please read and review!! I'd really like some feedback on this one, considering there was no forethought to it whatsoever.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note:

Due to all the feedback I received, I decided to continue the story. Please let me know if it appears to be crashing and burning though, as I'm not quite sure where to take it, and I'd rather slam on the brakes & come to a halt than destroy it, heh.

**Chapter 2**

House didn't remember falling asleep; mercifully, it was a dreamless sleep, brought on by pure exhaustion. The midday sun managed to shine directly in his eyes, and he grumbled, instinctively reaching an arm out next to him.

The feeling of a cool, unused sheet caused his eyes to snap open. Harsh reality and pain-hazed memories of the night before returned, and he realized the crushing truth that it hadn't been a dream.

She was gone.

He closed his eyes again, started to reach for the bottle of Vicodin on the nightstand. Silently, he rationalized that if the little white pills could dull the pain in his leg, perhaps enough of them would dull the pain in his heart as well.

A soft gurgling accompanied his movements and alerted him to the fact that there was a warm weight against his chest. The weight shifted, and he watched as Elena's eyes fluttered open for a moment, then closed once more. The five-week-old infant was nestled securely against his chest, one tiny fist holding onto his t-shirt.

Silently, House studied this perfect little person, her dark curls definitely her mother's. He swallowed, inhaled and exhaled slowly.

How the hell was he supposed to do this? He could barely take care of himself, let alone a newborn baby.

How could she leave him, them, like this?

The sound of someone pounding on the door brought him out of his thoughts as Elena let out a wail of protest at having her beauty sleep interrupted. He maneuvered to sit, cradling the baby with one arm, and reaching for the Vicodin with the other. Although he would never admit it to Wilson, he was well aware of the connection between his emotions and the pain in his leg. It wasn't all psychological, like Wilson once tried to convince him. But a link certainly existed.

And right now, his leg was killing him.

Expertly, he worked the cap off with one hand, and swallowed two of the bitter-tasting pills. Elena wailed louder, and he winced.

"Y'know, you've got your mother's lungs; she sounds just like that when-"

He started to lecture his daughter and halted; his teasing tone intended for the woman who would usually be glaring at him across the bed. But the bedroom was empty; the shower wasn't running, there was no Cuddy bustling about, getting ready for work while he tried his best (and usually, but not always, failed) to coax her back into bed.

House felt his chest constrict again, and the analytical part of him rationalized that it wasn't real physical pain; it shouldn't hurt this much, shouldn't be capable of taking the wind out of him.

But it was, and it did.

"House? House! If you're in there, open up!"

House groaned. Just what he needed, a worry-frenzied oncologist. He refused to entertain the idea that Wilson's appearance might be a relief. Refused to acknowledge that the house was suddenly too big and far too empty.

He limped over to the door, Elena in one arm, cane in the other. Elena had apparently decided to drown out the knocking with her cries, and was doing an admirable job of it.

"Hou- "

Wilson nearly nailed House in the forehead when the door flung open revealing a haggard-looking misanthrope and one very unhappy infant.

"Had to wash the blood off my wrists, sorry about that."

House commented dryly, refusing to meet Wilson's eyes as he turned to head towards the kitchen. Both of them were well aware of how uncomfortably close to truth the comment might've been.

"How are you doing?"

Wilson asked, and immediately realized what a stupid question it was, when House froze for a moment in front of the refrigerator as he took out a bottle of pre-prepared formula.

"I'm just _peachy_, Jimmy."

He growled, struggling a bit with holding Elena and the formula, wincing as he set the cane on the counter and moved to the stove.

"Do you want me to hold her?"

Wilson's brow furrowed in concern as he reached out for the still-crying baby. House surprised him by meeting his eyes for the first time, tightening his arm around his daughter. Something flashed in ice-blue eyes.

"No."

Jimmy frowned, but didn't argue, even as House nearly spilled the formula before managing to start it heating on the stove.

"House. . .last night was. . .hard. . "

Wilson started to speak, and was cut off by a suddenly very angry Gregory House.

"Really? I thought it went rather well, apart from finding the mother of my child lying dead on the operating table. What was that you called it, Jimmy? A _miracle_, I think."

The oncologist winced, but didn't back down; he knew that drawing any kind of emotion out of House, even anger, would be better than nothing.

"You saw the report. It _was_ a miracle, House, that she made it to the hospital. She is – was- a fighter."

Wilson was fairly certain that if he didn't have a five-week-old in his arms, House would've hit him.

"Stop calling it that! Lisa's _dead_, Jimmy. I don't see any _fucking_ miracle in that. There's no such thing as miracles! She fought, but it doesn't _matter _she's still _gone_! God doesn't exist, and if he did, he'd be one sick son of a bitch."

House was trembling, and Elena started crying louder. He looked down at the baby in his arms, as though he'd forgotten how she'd gotten there. He lowered himself into a chair at the table, trying to hide the fact that his leg was about to buckle. In fact, House privately felt as though both physically and emotionally, he couldn't withstand the weight of everything pressing down.

"Jimmy, take her."

His hands were shaking as he held out his daughter, and the oncologist held her, shushing her, trying to calm her cries. It didn't work. She was hungry, but more than that, the baby could sense that something was wrong with her world.

"She wants Cuddy."

House explained quietly, before leaning forward, his face dropping into his hands.

"God damn. . .Jimmy, I can't. . .I can't do this without her. I can't do it alone. Hell, even if I don't OD in the next 24 hours, Elena'll be lucky if I live past the next ten years without my liver giving out."

He murmured, always fully aware of his own mortality. What he'd neglected, however, was the thought Cuddy being just as mortal. It didn't seem possible; she was Lisa Cuddy, the ambitious work-a-holic who fought her way through medical school, became one of the few female Deans in New Jersey. Lisa Cuddy, whose eyes blazed with liquid fire when she was angry, danced with sparks when she laughed, and burned with passion when you kissed her just right.

Lisa Cuddy, his boss, his friend, his lover, his angel and his savior. A woman who lived her life with such fiery passion, he thought, couldn't possibly be dead.

And yet she was.

It wasn't supposed to work out this way. He was supposed to be the one who left first, not her. _Never_ her.

"You're not alone, House."

House looked up, an acid comment on the tip of his tongue, but Wilson just wordlessly placed Elena back in his arms. The baby girl's cries didn't stop, but they did quiet noticeably.

"You have your daughter. You have me, whether you want me or not. Cameron, Chase, hell even Foreman – I would have thought you would learn with Cuddy that just because you try to push people away, doesn't mean you've gotten rid of them."

The diagnostician looked away, clearly uncomfortable with the whole 'feelings' discussion. He stood up, got the bottle from the stove, and absently tested it on his wrist. Finding it satisfactory, he offered the tip to Elena, who agreed wholeheartedly with his judgment, and began hungrily guzzling down the formula.

"She wasn't supposed to leave. This is what _she_ wanted, not me."

He finally stated, completely ignoring Wilson's speech. The oncologist sighed.

"House, everyone lies, especially to themselves. You want this just as much as she did. Don't use her as an excuse to throw it away."

* * *

This is new emotional territory for me to cover with House, and let me tell you, it's fairly rocky terrain for me to navigate. So, please let me know what you think! (Click 'review', detailed feedback makes me happy!) 


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